


Pray that your soul to keep

by Absinok



Series: Wider eyes oblivious to everything [1]
Category: A Nightmare on Elm Street - All Media Types, Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Child Abuse, Character Death In Dream, Character Study, Gen, Introspection, Original Character(s), Quentin is not okay, Religion, Uh this is not happy, more like I give characterization to characters who didn't have any, no good times allowed, the fog is a shitty place
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-06-29 08:29:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15725697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Absinok/pseuds/Absinok
Summary: Quentin started dreaming way before the others. It didn't help him any.Even having dream powers cannot save you when you're hunted in a place you cannot escape.





	1. Pray that your soul to keep

**Author's Note:**

> Heeeeeeeeeeeeyyy i'm back at writing after forever and i discovered dbd recently and quentin is MY FAV  
> yes this one is short but expect more fics to come soon  
> also who the fuck forgets to put summaries of their fics? me apparently

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Religion is a simple thing for Quentin. It doesn't have to be.  
> It's just a belief and there's nothing else to it.  
> A private thought, a call for help.  
> A hope, to survive Freddy Krueger

Religion is a simple thing for Quentin. It doesn't have to be. Is not, for most, who would disagree to see it that way but Quentin refuses to see it as a hindrance, as anything else. It comes naturally, it's just a **belief** and there's nothing else to it. And it's private, for it's not about him, but the belief is undeniably _his_. It would make no sense, to disconnect it from him for a thought is nothing without its thinker, nothing if nobody is personally involved.

It's all there is to it. A belief, or _several_ , or none, that may be shared by other people but that, in the end, can't be anything but his (otherwise it wouldn't be a belief, would only be a vague notion some people regard as true). But that's not what it is. And the shared aspect doesn't matter much for Quentin. He cannot take umbrage for people conceiving things just like him, but that doesn't mean he has any particular interest in talking to them.

The necklace is a relic, as a very special item but it's for himself only, not for anyone to recognize and comment on. It's the same for the holy coin that is not frequently seen. It's not that he's ashamed, that he doesn't want people to know, but he won't mention it unless asked. He's not actively hiding it but would prefer not to display it in general. It's significant but holds a sense that wouldn't be understood without explanations, and it's certainly not something he would do with just anybody. For Nancy... It's complicated. He's not sure how he feels about her knowing, and what she really thinks of it. Doesn't really want to ask her. But he was genuine, even if his reaction was concise.

 _'You gotta believe in something, you know_ '. Just like some trace sigils for protection, Quentin prays. When he has a little time, when he's alone, when he won't be disturbed. It doesn't necessarily comes often, but he holds these moments dear. He doesn't maintain a schedule, refuses to force himself into it. There is not a time where it should be an inconvenience. It's not intuitive, nor authentic if he insists on doing it at specific times. No, the intent, the desire to go in this introspective state must come from him only.

At first, he wanted to get a rosary. But Quentin knows its meaning, the number of prayers, and the exact words and has no interest in them. It wouldn't be fitting.

He knows the institutions. Christianity is not exactly the most subtle of religions. Quentin has come in contact with it all, particularly during his late childhood and he rejects the idea of standing in a room to recite words interpreted over and over from a book originally written over a millennium ago. How sacred can a text be, when it has been changed and molded by whoever had the biggest interest in doing it for political agendas? What is it worth to study it, to repeat it over and over?

The prayers are his, only. They have to be. Otherwise it's not worth it if it's just some words, repeated one after another, hollowed of their meaning. Sentences that you learn exactly how to pronounce without ever questioning. Prayers are not shared. More often than not they're not about him, but they are personal. Quentin considers it's no use praying if it's to steal someone else's words. If you won't pray for yourself, or somebody you know, or even anybody you could think of, then why would you?

His religion, his faith, his hope, are all connected, so one cannot be without the other. Or, his faith can never bring him something else than hope. It is simply a thing he clings to, a way to keep on, to go forward despite what happens. Because he believes it will work out. Because he hopes it will get better.

And so, when he starts dreaming, he keeps praying. It's particular, because he doesn't sit, doesn't close his eyes, **cannot ever** and _what if he sleeps_ and _what if he does not_ , _what if he wakes up_ and **_what if he can no longer_**. So he walks, and prays. Prays they can stop Freddy before... _Before_.

Prays Nancy will be able to hold on. Prays they can find what to do, and fast because Nancy is having micro-naps and he... He's barely sure he's awake. But he knows. He knows because he's alive.

And he prays, while driving, while walking, while witnessing helplessly the worst nightmares unfold.

And then he watches Freddy Krueger close in on him.

 

* * *

 

 

The last of Quentin's beliefs is his imminent death.

 

* * *

 

Yet, despite it's certainty it does not happen. Or does it? Quentin himself has no way of knowing and everyone who could tell him is gone, gone when he arrives at an eternally lit campfire with a dozen people all sharing the same forlorn look. All until they tell him, where they are, who they are.

It's not hell, he contemplates but it's close.

 

* * *

 

Quentin no longer prays, the only god in this wretched place is not a benevolent one. Quentin refuses to address it, to acknowledge its existence. If he's to spend an eternity dying (or not) at the hands of the same people, over and over, then at least he will give the least amount of satisfaction possible to the Entity.

His faith is now only hope, hope for Nancy to have made it out since the Dream Demon followed him, hope for him and all the others to make it out.

For they will.

One way or another, they will.  


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quentin started dreaming way before the others. It didn't help him any.  
> Even having dream powers cannot save you when you're hunted in a place you cannot escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO THIS IS LONG  
> i mean not that much but a lot longer than the first. also it's not happy. but boi it's not the worst i planned yet  
> so this is in the same timeline than the first chapter. In the third chapter we'll see Nancy after Quentin was taken in the fog.  
> Please leave me a comment!! i'm starved for attention

The thing is, Quentin started dreaming way before the others. Before Dean started lamenting the nightmares he suffered from, before any of them had anything concrete to fear (though it was present much before they were aware the threat was real). But not of striped red and green, not of suffocating air and humid heat, not of razor sharp knives. No Quentin dreamed of people. Several of them. None being Freddy Krueger.

 

Seemingly there's nothing strange to it, everyone sleeps, _'everyone dreams Quentin',_ and he wouldn't have thought otherwise if he hadn't started speaking to them. Having conversations that were far too clear, too coherent to be subconscious. And Quentin was absolutely the type to over think even when there's even a slight apparent reason to.

 

He was not worried at first, but certainly intrigued. So, as he always did when faced with an unknown situation, he researched. Collected information, tried to understand what it was all about, read about lucid dreaming, controlling your dreams and seeing the things you want to see.

 

Except it was not that.

 

He couldn't shape his dreams, couldn't create them but he could... share. Because there's no way these were _his_. Lucid dreaming involves being conscious of what you're doing, involves a part of intent. But how can you have the intent to meet someone you don't know?

 

(And he doesn't, there's no way, any of them who come from such different backgrounds, no way he knows them. The only ones he knows are Nancy and Jesse but he's not meeting them, it's not the same. Cannot be. He could be missing a detail but somehow having a connection to these people? Cannot be.)

 

No, lucid dreaming doesn't usually involve going to places you never saw or imagined, creating models, strange shells of people you have never met but with stories that are far too special, too human and intimate for it to be an illusion of a sleeping mind. However what his mind failed to do was make all those people appear clearly.

 

He recognized Nancy and Jesse because he knew them, identified them easily even in this shrouded state, but the others he couldn't tell what they were supposed to look like. Silhouettes were easy to decipher, but anything more complicated than height or hair length was lost in the dream world. No matter. Quentin learned their names.

 

Each of their dreams was unique, as if they all have a mindspace, a special place in these dreams. However, the truth is he saw Nancy more often than any other. Sometimes he saw Jesse or Kris but it's rare. Nancy's dreams were beautiful and calming but it always felt strange to talk to her in there when she was always recluse in reality. Quentin never spoke of this. Never pointed out the differences, never even mentioned the dreams.

 

(He didn't really want to know whether or not it was truly Nancy he saw. He was afraid of the implications. Nancy never talked about it.)

 

However, out of all the people he could see, none of them had any apparent link.

 

Not until they started dropping.

 

* * *

 

Quentin did not see them fall apart, but suddenly some of them stopped appearing. There was a kind of deep, impossible knowledge bestowed only to him that he would never cross their dreams again. That they were lost, never to be seen again.

 

(Quentin prayed many times for him to be mistaken. But he was not.)

 

The first was Carrie, she lived in Colorado and was an exceptional storyteller. She loved entertaining, and spent their shared dreams narrating grandiloquent stories. Told him she was in a drama club and all she ever wanted was to work in theater.

 

Once she seemed faint, and then never became clearer. Each time he saw her she was exhausted, profoundly tired at her core and _'how can you even tire in a dream'_ Quentin couldn't tell but she was undeniably struggling. She told him she was dreaming, dreaming of someone, something else. That she started having a bunch of violent nightmares. That she was afraid, but of what she didn't know exactly. That surely she was being paranoid, that surely there was no real threat. She's just going in a bad phase, she said.

 

"I'll get through Quentin, it's just nightmares"

 

Then she **vanished**.

 

And Quentin, upon witnessing her disappearance, suddenly couldn't close his eyes on this situation anymore. He searched for anything, any missing reports. Instead he found an article.

 

"Teenage girl Carrie Bush commits suicide in her room"

 

Quentin never searched again.

 

* * *

 

 

The worst thing is that he never knew the truth. Couldn't ever understand why Carrie killed herself. But he couldn't deny what happened. Couldn't deny the fact that he met her, talked to a cognizant individual in dreams, someone who is now gone. All that she said, it was true.

 

But since when can you share dreams?

 

The truth is, Quentin was afraid. Didn't know what he was supposed to do with this strange power that had been given to him. Didn't know what he could do. He prayed for an explanation but of course none came.

 

Quentin promised himself he would not be a helpless witness next time. Whatever drove Carrie to this, he could have helped. He should have.

 

He started seeing them more, more of them. Quentin wasn't exactly sure if it was linked to his resolution. He didn't question it at first but there was little doubt in his mind. Whatever this all was about, it came from him, no one else.

 

(He asked Nancy, the significance between shared dreams. She threw him a strange look and said she didn't know, it never happened to her.)

 

There were now up to fifteen teenagers he saw. Yet despite the differences, each of them had something in common. All of them lived in the same country, spoke the same language and had the same age. None of them knew each other. He asked each of them why, why he could see and talk to them, what they could have in common with the others. They didn't know.

 

(None heard of Carrie.)

 

All of them were in high school save for one who was dangerously sick and couldn't leave the hospital, and another who was training to be a professional athlete, and thus had to follow a special program. Her name was Lisa and more often than not Quentin saw her swimming.

 

He wouldn't have guessed before that you could be so active in a dream but if Nancy could find herself surrounded by her paintings and blank canvases every time than there's no reason why Lisa couldn't practice. It's just strange, the implications. Could she get better with it, even though her body technically isn't moving? She said she had no idea, and didn't care that much.

 

"It's about routine."

 

Quentin liked talking to her. She was rather exuberant and clearly had a lot of fun with her everyday life. It was a nice respite.

 

Quentin hoped she wouldn't find herself plagued with nightmares as well.

 

When he mentioned he was a part of his school's swimming team she wouldn't let it go. She was so excited, asked repetitively for him to show her how good he was. He was a bit self conscious, to practice in front of a future Olympic athlete. Thankfully Lisa wasn't anything but encouraging, and gave him tips on how to be even faster.

 

"You have to exercise more on your legs, run track or something. Your kicks are too slow."

 

After that he didn't see her for a while, but he followed her advices. Next time he saw her he was sure she'd be euphoric to see he'd listened.

 

However before he could, it happened. Once more.

 

* * *

 

 

The second one he wasn't close to. Craig, whatever his surname was. He never really wanted to talk to Quentin, sometimes shared how his day went, but obviously he didn't care about sharing dreams. His mindspace was always shadowed, closed to Quentin. Craig didn't want to disclose much.

 

Last Quentin saw him he was angry. Clearly fighting against something but he wouldn't say what. He said he was having nightmares, but that it was nothing new. Said it was none of his concern. Quentin never crossed his dream again.

 

It was the first time he really tried to see a particular person but no matter what he would not end up in Craig's dream. It was easy to understand why, harder to accept it.

 

Quentin mourned, because he could not help him either.

 

This time he didn't search for what happened. He didn't want to know.

 

* * *

 

Next time he saw Nancy he couldn't hide his despair (he'd never really been good at it). She kept dancing around the subject the whole time until Quentin woke up. She hadn't dared ask in the end, and Quentin considered it was not his story to tell.

 

(Or maybe it was. Maybe he should pass on their memories. Maybe that's why he's seeing them, to tell about teenagers who deserved better.)

 

The same day he went to the cafe she was working in, with Jesse. Quentin wasn't really in the mood but Jesse was forceful sometimes and he figured it couldn't hurt, to take his mind off of it. Nancy kept staring at him. At the dark bags under his eyes, at his drained behavior. It was... Uncomfortable. Quentin didn't want to pin her on the spot by asking but he wished she would stop. She said nothing.

 

(Next time she saw him in a dream she asked. How is it to share dreams. Quentin replied it was lonely.)

 

* * *

 

There was something wrong with Lisa. He knew, he knew. She wouldn't talk, but she was preoccupied and Quentin was so scared that she would mention nightmares.

 

But instead she simply revealed her coach was starting to doubt her, and pushing her more and more. He believed she wasn't good enough yet, he was still hesitating despite her efforts.

 

"I really want to participate you know? I'm supposed to be the best at my field but I'm still too slow. I'm tied with an older swimmer, who has more experience. They can't bring too many athletes."

 

Quentin didn't like it, seeing her push herself so far. She was running herself ragged, spread too thin. But there wasn't much he could do. He made sure to try to see her as often as possible, reminding her to eat well and get a proper sleep schedule.

 

She told him it'd be fine. She was getting better. They'd choose her. They'd choose her. She was gonna do so well it'll thrust her career forward.

 

He believed her.

 

She never said anything about nightmares.

 

* * *

 

 

Then something incomprehensible happened. One second he was with her, swimming to pretend competition and incite her to try her best. The next she screamed, suddenly pulled under water. Quentin panicked, immediately plunged to help her for she was going lower and lower too fast, dragged by some weight but there was nothing. There was nothing with her.

 

Quentin grabbed her under the arms and pulled her up, to the surface. Surprisingly, there was absolutely nothing hindering him. What just happened? Lisa couldn't have pulled herself to the bottom, there was something. But Quentin was sure. He saw nothing. Nothing at all. As though Lisa's body had weights that prevented her from going back up.

 

He got them out of the pool but Lisa was clearly out of it, hiccuping, screaming, _'no no no'_ like a mantra. Then suddenly she jumped on her feet and shouted "Run, oh god run!"

 

But she couldn't.

 

Before she could even start, slash marks appeared on her back and she fell, crying out in pain. Quentin ran to her and she was sobbing _why, why her why now please no let her live she didn't want to die she'd done nothing, nothing at all_ and she was bleeding, god she was bleeding so much why couldn't he have learned anything about first aid?

 

Then she couldn't speak anymore because there was a deep laceration at her throat and she was gurgling, eyes glazing fast.

 

And then there was nothing.

 

He was alone, in a mindspace that wasn't his own. And there was nothing left. The pool had disappeared, leaving only a dark void. Quentin was terrified of what it meant. But there was nothing.

 

* * *

 

He was losing count. One after another they kept falling out of his grasp and he could never know what was happening. He couldn't make head or tails of what he'd seen. But Lisa... She was dead. That he knew because even without searching the news were everywhere. "Future Olympic swimmer found lifeless."

 

It was so strange, for all of them to drop one after another and so soon. It was only days between each disappearance. They. They were all targeted. They were. No other way.

 

(Did Carrie truly killed herself?)

 

That's why he saw them all. All of the people he saw. They were going to die. They were all going to die.

 

Nancy, Kris, Jesse, Dean. Him maybe. He didn't know. Didn't know anymore.

 

He felt something. Something watching. All the time, in his dreams, in others'. Something dark, malevolent. Profoundly repulsive. A clicking of metal. A scent of smoke. But he never saw anything.

 

He warned Nancy. She told him he needed more sleep, needed to calm down. She wanted to deny. Even as she couldn't get the lullaby out of her head she wanted to deny.

 

He warned Kris but Kris didn't even believe it was a real person she was talking to. And then it was too late for Dean.

 

* * *

 

Quentin wondered if he was delirious. He kept hearing a strange, gravelly laughter and feeling blades scraping on his neck. All the time. It was worse when he slept though. There never was a trace of anything though. Of course. He increased his consumption of Zoneral. He knew he wasn't supposed to, but... there wasn't much he could do.

 

He begged Kris to tell him what she'd been dreaming about when she let out a word about nightmares. Nancy told him she was afraid – maybe she thought he'd have an idea. But Quentin was clueless, left to pick up the pieces and he couldn't understand a thing.

 

Kris told him though. What her nightmares were about. She told him about a man with burnt skin and razors. She told him about a boiler room, and terror. Being chased endlessly. Feeling as though falling asleep would be her death.

 

(Nancy didn't tell him until it was too late but she'd been dreaming too. For a while. She'd known about this, but she was wishing so hard it was a lie. She tried to deny as hard as possible.)

 

Kris told him. That Dean appeared to be struggling against someone when he died. That he'd been dreaming, too. Quentin didn't tell her about the others.

 

It wouldn't have changed a thing, he reasoned later as guilt was tearing at him. She was doomed. They all were. It wouldn't have helped. It wouldn't have changed a thing.

 

Still, Kris fell to the razors.

 

By the time Quentin could see Jesse again he already knew he had to stay awake. But locked as he was, there never was a chance for him.

 

(Nancy knew it wasn't him, as soon as she heard of Kris's death. She might not have believed Quentin at first but she'd seen it. She knew it was _him_. But she couldn't help Jesse.)

 

Quentin witnessed that too. He was with Jesse, urging him to wake up, **wake up or you never** **will again** when it started. In between of his mind trying to close in on itself as protection from the horrors displayed in front of him, he registered the same presence as always. A clear message. _**You're next.**_

 

And then it was only him and Nancy.

 

* * *

 

Quentin knew. He knew it would end up like this for a while. Still, he was terrified.

 

He saw it now. The presence. Death, on them all. Freddy Krueger. He saw him, heard him. He'd have preferred never to.

 

Nancy was hiding something. Something only she knew. Something small, and terrible. She knew, about Freddy Krueger. More than him. Him, he searched but couldn't find anything. Nancy wouldn't tell. But she said they knew him. Used to.

 

"We all were in the same preschool Quentin. I dreamed of it and... I found a photo. We're all linked to the school. He was there."

 

Quentin asked for the photo, but tracing the names only brought deep, visceral pain and he couldn't help the tears once he'd seen the faces.

 

"If Dean, Kris and Jesse are dead, what about the others?"

 

Quentin replied that she knew. She knew. He'd told her. There was no one left.

 

Nancy finally understood.

 

* * *

 

Quentin couldn't get Lisa out of his mind. He tried, tried to, especially when back at swimming but it was impossible. Impossible to pretend he hadn't seen her almost drown and then be brutally murdered.

 

The first time he'd come close to the pool he'd been so scared out of his skin it'd been impossible for him to even touch the water. But he couldn't do that, coach said. “Come on Quentin, I need you, focus”

 

So he tried but it was so difficult. So so difficult when any time his head was under water he saw her, at the bottom, calling him. Come Quentin. You left me, it's the least you could do. Just come.

 

It was easy enough to ignore the first few times but after a few pool lengths, coupled with exhaustion, it suddenly became much harder.

 

_Come Quentin_

 

He didn't even know why he was seeing her. He wasn't sleeping and he couldn't visit the dead and it, it couldn't be Freddy Krueger. He probably wouldn't do that.

 

“Quentin focus!”

 

_Quentin why won't you come?_

 

And suddenly he couldn't see around him because he was going under, fast.

 

_Come, come, you'll see it's easier._

 

_**Come to FREDDY** _

 

He surfaced but not in the pool. He was in a cold, unknown place and his mind kept screaming about danger. It wasn't wrong, for seconds after a man came running, followed by cars chasing after him. A bunch of adults and – was that his father? – came after the man who'd locked himself up. Oh. That was Freddy Krueger.

 

What had they done?

 

No god, what had they done?

 

They murdered him. He was after them because they got him killed. But what had Krueger done to them?

 

He wished the monster never told him.

 

* * *

 

“Hey will you talk to me? I'm falling asleep.” Nancy asked, as he was driving to the preschool. If they managed to get there. The odds were against them for sure. But at least he had adrenaline pumping through his veins now. Nancy refused it. Quentin hoped it would be enough, if he stayed awake.

 

“Yeah, what do you want to talk about?”

 

“Tell me about them.”

 

Quentin knew, who she was talking about. But not why. Doesn't matter. He'd share their stories. Pass on the memories of friends he didn't remember, of people who never had a chance. Ruined by Freddy Krueger. So he talked, making them live again for just one second. About Carrie, about Lisa, about Marcus and Sukari and the others. About Kris who never believed in lucid dreaming. About Nancy, who denied for a long time she was seeing a real person.

 

She laughed a broken and pitiful sound.

 

Then she leaned into him and whispered “Want to know why I didn't tell you anything?” and Quentin didn't reply because he recognized a person who just needed to be heard when he saw one.

 

“I remember some of it, too much. Because of him. He came for me but instead of chasing me to kill he reminded me of who he was. He told me everything and **showed me**. He kept coming after me, his favorite he said, crooning _'Nancy, Nancy you naughty girl'_.”

 

Quentin couldn't pretend he understood. Krueger only told him the basics.

 

He hardly remembered a thing.

 

“We'll never be free now Quentin. Even if we live. He tainted us.”

 

Quentin couldn't refute. No, especially not after seeing the pictures in the secret cave.

 

* * *

 

 

However, against all hope they did it. They beat Freddy Krueger. They killed him? A strange thought. Quentin didn't feel as though he was awake. As though it was real. But Freddy never would make him dream about a fantasy of killing him, so it had to be real.

 

The place was up in flames and he was torn apart. Nancy looked hollow. They made it back, to the hospital though. Nancy still had that nasty gash and himself had inhaled a bit too much fumes. But they were alive.

 

They were alive and he was not. The terror was over. Relief was absent.

 

He made Nancy promise to call him when she was home. Mostly because he wasn't sure he'd bring himself to do the same, and he knew they both needed it. Recognized the exact look in her eyes because he shared it. They were out, but they didn't know if it was worth it.

 

But when Nancy called it wasn't bittersweet. The horror was back again.

 

“My mother is dead Quentin. I saw him. He took her.”

 

It couldn't be. Couldn't be.

 

They slept by each other's watch and nothing happened.

 

* * *

 

Quentin was relapsing, Nancy knew it. He looked worse by each day while she was struggling to keep her head above. She tried to help but he… he was sinking fast. Hallucinating. He kept sleeping, but only accepted to if she was near and ended up awake, screaming after only a few minutes.

 

He kept saying he was back. But Nancy never dreamt of Freddy again. She thought, she thought it was him for her mother but… what if it wasn't? Maybe it wasn't. Maybe she just thought it was because she'd just come out of a traumatic event.

 

Freddy wouldn't ignore her. He wouldn't, especially not after what they'd done. Not after he tormented her every time she fell asleep. No, he had to be gone. So why, why did Quentin keep talking about it?

 

(There always was a doubt at the back of Nancy's mind because Quentin had been the first to dream and she didn't believe the first time. Maybe it would have changed something. For Quentin mostly. Could have helped making him feel less lost.)

 

However, if she recognized that Krueger was still alive, it meant recognizing that all they'd done had changed nothing, that they were back at square one, powerless and unable to comprehend. Nancy refused that. No, she was not like that anymore. Quentin was just having difficulties to cope, which was perfectly normal. He couldn't even talk to anyone about that. She didn't really want to, all the others who'd crossed Krueger were dead and his father... Quentin barely accepted to live with him anymore (not like he had any choice in the matter though).

 

Quentin was exhausted. It was obvious, in his every move. He was so profoundly exhausted and Nancy wanted to help but she didn't know how.

 

It wouldn't be long anymore, Quentin knew. He didn't have much time left. Krueger enjoyed a good chase but he was getting too tired to run. Soon, he wouldn't wake. But Nancy... She wasn't dreaming. No she wouldn't hide that. Wouldn't be able to, the horror is too much to hide. But he didn't know how come. How come Freddy Krueger was back for him and not her. Didn't she say he had been obsessed with her?

 

Why was he the only one targeted?

 

Maybe the murderer had enough of fooling around, of letting him visit people.

 

(Quentin still couldn't tell. If it was him or Krueger who did that. How could he, when the only people he could see were the ones that were killed? Perhaps it simply was a way to toy with them. Give them hope. Make them believe they could do something together, when they were helpless to this threat.)

 

Maybe Freddy Krueger had enough of playing. This time, he was really pissed. Of course he wouldn't take it kindly to be killed again. Now if only he could do them the favor of staying dead.

 

When Quentin found himself back at the preschool he knew. It was over for him. There were only two possible outcomes, only one of them who would emerge alive. But Death didn't accept Krueger so in truth that made it one. He wouldn't go easily though. He owed that at least, to Nancy, to Kris, to Carrie and Lisa and Marcus. He wouldn't go down without making him work for it.

 

The monster wasn't anything but morbidly focused. Biding his time, appearing each and every time only to let him go. Letting him hope, only to crush the feeling. Letting him run and run until he couldn't anymore, until he had no strength left. That's very much how he felt yes. Just weak. He didn't have any alternative anymore, any way to wake up.

 

Freddy was animated by vengeance and that was the only common point between the two of them really. But Quentin had no way to act on this feeling anymore, only could once and it wasn't enough. So he only kept running, searching desperately for an idea, to make it more difficult for the murderer stalking him through the halls. There was nothing though.

 

He had no control over this dream, never had. No way of escaping. This was Krueger's world, and he liked to remind it by making corridors turn all around, punching holes through the ground that were impossible to avoid.

 

Quentin was in the boiler room and his time was running out.

 

_**"There you are, boy"** _

 

Quentin had been resigned for a long time to his fate. That didn't mean he would accept it so easily though. He tricked Krueger, made him believe he'd given up. Quentin knew, he would take the bait. That's how he was. Couldn't resist scaring his prey some more. Wouldn't even look at the viscous liquid on the ground, too focused on him, on the boy who thwarted his plan, on him who'd blocked his way to his _favorite girl_.

 

Quentin threw him a desperate look and the monster laughed. Freddy closed in, his razors raking the pipes. The metallic shrieking was short, for it immediately made a shower of sparks rain on the ground and then everything was up in flames and how _cathartic_ for Quentin to ignite this pyre, how karmic of him to die not by Krueger's hand but by making his whole world **burn**.

 

(Of course it wouldn't do a thing to Freddy. But symbolism was enough.)

 

Quentin didn't flee. He stood his ground, surrounded by the flames eating up his skin. He felt victorious. Finally he wasn't helpless anymore. He wasn't at Krueger's mercy anymore. He would not surrender. His life was not Krueger's to take.

 

Freddy was fascinated by the look of defiance, hatred, spite and pure satisfaction mixed together on the boy's face.

 

But Quentin didn't stay ablaze for long.

 

Something came. Something different. Powerful, strange. Unknowable. A bending of metal, and of his mind. Groans, all around, incomprehensible. Creaking, of wood perhaps. Some sort of language. Whispers that sounded like wheezes. Then spider-like appendages.

 

"No, don't!" Quentin pleaded. "Let me have this."

 

But it didn't. It refused.

 

A moment of spinning and then he was taken by these claws, stolen from Krueger's dream and released in a campfire. A campfire full of other people. One he wouldn't escape from that easily. One that would push him to Freddy Krueger again, occasionally, for terrible trials where he was supposed to fight for survival when he'd been ready to end. Quentin had no interest in these trials but he was no fool. It was easy to understand, the fate of those who stopped trying. Hope was a scarce, yet oh so necessary resource and his supply was already low. He couldn't though. Couldn't let himself go, couldn't surrender.

 

He would not become a killer. He would not surrender to the being who'd robbed him of a rare moment he felt powerful standing against Krueger. At least now the monster was trapped and Nancy was free. Would be.

 

And he wasn't alone anymore. He didn't tell them exactly what had happened between Freddy Krueger and him but the other survivors hadn't been anything but understanding. They were all so empathetic, probably from being stuck in this place for long. Laurie was collecting the pieces slowly, and he knew she'd come to the realization at some point. He just didn't know what he'd tell her then. Until then, he'd make the most of their apparent common decision to keep him as far away from Krueger as possible.


End file.
